Under The Tree

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and Harrison Fernsby had awoken to quite the surprise under his Christmas tree in his quaint home in Totton Town, England. Under the tree, where a present should’ve been, his spouse lay, limp and pale. Whilst Harrison was processing the sight, a familiar, cheery voice entered from his front door.

“Harry, dear! It’s great to have you back, I just came in to borrow your oven. You see I’m baking a pie for today’s Secret Santa and–” The voice of the old lady, well-known around town for her baking skills, quickly cut off after she saw Asher Fernsby, the long-term spouse of Harrison, dead on the hardwood floors. Within the corpse’s hand grasped Harrison’s favorite mug.

“Connie! I… I just woke up and found Asher like this! On the ground and…” Harrison’s voice faltered in exasperation as thoughts spun wildly in his head, tears fell from his eyes and he quickly tore himself away from looking at his spouse’s corpse.

Connie’s demeanor swiftly shifted from chipper to shock, and she let out a deafening scream as the door swung open once again and more witnesses piled into the house.

The slouched figure of the town’s mystic, Piercenia, was the first to speak of all. Cradling their crystal ball in one hand, they made haste, “What a tragedy has struck on Christmas Eve, right before our Secret Santa party too! Nay, not a tragedy but rather a crime! My divinations are telling me right now… This, this is a murder!”

“A murder?!” The baker wailed, barely able to take in the death of Asher, to jump to the conclusion of murder was incomprehensible.

Piercenia’s musings turned into cold whispers, “Oh yes, my crystal ball is speaking, and the murderer is in this very room.”

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, in the Fernsby’s kitchen. The rising Sun yawned into the windows, the heater whirred, and the beautifully decorated Christmas tree gleamed as it cast a shadow over six residents of Totton Town. One was dead, and as for the five others, they were now all suspects. One of these people – friends, neighbors, nearly family – was the culprit.

“Piercenia, this is not the time for jokes! My spouse, my only family, they’re… Asher is gone! What kind of conclusion is murder?! Who even would have done it?” shouted Harrison, breaking the frantic murmurs that had burst after the accusation.

Florence, the town’s doctor interjected, “We shouldn’t be asking questions that point the blame at someone. Harrison, please let me inspect… Them. In fact, we should check their pulse and–”

“Aha! Now you see, my predictions never fail!” Piercenia exclaimed, “See how Florence immediately swayed away from focusing on finding the culprit? My oh my, tell me who would do that other than our good-for-nothing mayor and a murderer?”

“You’re trying to pin this on our town’s only doctor?” demanded Vincent, a fresh graduate from fashion school and the town’s esteemed tailor. “You disgust me, Piercenia.”

“The crystal ball deduces that you, Vincent, might be an accomplice!”

Harrison finally exploded, “Enough! God, you’re insufferable. Asher is dead and you’re making it all about yourselves! Somebody, do something!” his anger crumbled into tears and Connie took him in her arms.

The snow outside began to fall harder, yet no one noticed, as mournful sobs settled a dark veil over the house.

Connie frowned at the tension swarming the air and resolved to hug Harrison tighter. “Instead of focusing on the nearly deceased or how exactly things got this way, let’s try and cheer up Harrison! I can’t possibly imagine the grief he’s feeling right now.”

Harrison sniffled within Connie’s arms before his teary eyes set sight on a glossy photograph ornament, dangling from the once merry Christmas tree. A quiet breath fell out of his mouth as he fought back more tears. Connie followed his sullen eyes to the shining image depicting Harrison standing arm in arm with Asher, their close friend Andrin standing alongside them. She remembered how happy the couple had been when they had taken the photo and stroked Harrison’s back in sympathy, almost motherly.

The others observed the scene with various extents of shared sadness in their eyes. While their nerves remained on edge, it was impossible not to notice the amount of sorrow visible through Harrison’s somber, glassy eyes.

Vincent cleared his throat and talked with a softer voice, doing his best to offer whatever consolation he could. “When did you take that photo?” He asked gently.

Harrison sighed and wiped his eyes. “It was taken on one of our trips to Hillwood. It was our anniversary that night and we had just had the most romantic dinner and were enjoying time with Andrin, the sweet man that he is. He was like family to us, a family we never had. The entire night was one of Asher’s favorites. They insisted we hang it on the tree to bring us good luck into the New Year, but… but now…” his voice trailed off, heavy with heartache.

As Connie held Harrison tighter, her warmth melted his remaining barriers and let a final outburst of tears free, and as he broke into inconsolable cries he dropped the ornament. It shattered on the ground beside Asher and split into two. A crack split apart their joined hands and tarnished the beautiful frame holding them together.

Even in his blurred, teary vision, Harrison could barely look at the ruins and winced away as Piercenia stepped forward to collect the pieces. “My senses are telling me this photo fell for a reason! I’m getting a strange aura from it, just like when I watch the mayor’s speeches…” They flipped the cracked surface over to examine the back. “And would you look at that! There appears to be a note of some sort.”

Their curiosities piqued, Connie and Harrison approached Piercenia, questions flowing through their minds. Harrison extended his shaky arm to grasp the crystalline trinket. He connected the two broken pieces and read aloud the faded words inscribed on the surface. “I can’t wait to see you again! XOXO P.S. I’ll have the money soon…”

The sharp silence in the room deepened and glances were exchanged between each individual. Florence was the first to slice through the deafening quiet, “Perhaps there is more to the story than we originally thought, do you have any idea who could have written the note? And who could it have been addressed towards?”

Harrison swallowed the bile forming in his throat, “This is definitely Asher’s handwriting…”

Florence continued, “Perhaps they were in debt of some sort, however, that still would not explain the ‘XOXO’ utilized. This being said, it is still important to consider the mention of money. Is there any sort of insurance or inheritance policy shared between you and Asher?”

Noticing the disgruntled state Harrison was in, Connie responded to him, “The way both Asher and Harrison’s will works is that the other would gain all money and assets should the other pass away,” She gulped, “That includes life insurance.”

“I believe that is a very interesting point, possibly even a motive...” Florence started as she began searching for explanations within her head.

Her consideration was all but ignored as Vincent charged forward with a spark of determination in his eyes. He immediately pointed an accusative finger at Asher’s pocket. “See that there! That is some of the finest embroidery I have ever laid my eyes upon!”

As if to reiterate her previous points, Florence opened her mouth. However, the rest of the group gravitated towards Vincent, almost ignoring her altogether.

“But why point that out?” Connie asked with puzzled eyes. “Is now really the time to geek out?” Rolling his eyes, Vincent gracefully leant down, picked up the cloth between his index finger and thumb, avoiding contact with the corpse itself. He revealed the textile to be a handkerchief and marveled over it, running his fingers over the smooth material. Etched deeply into the satin were the initials A.S in flowing cursive script. “Hm, I’ve never heard of this brand before.”

“Neither have I!” Harrison’s voice trickled into an exasperated tone.

“I propose the initials could represent a name rather than a brand,” Florence said, eying the handkerchief with suspicion.

In an outcry, Piercenia lunged toward the handkerchief. “That’s our mayor: Arnold Snowington! I knew he was never up to any good, ever since he became mayor this entire town has–”

“Wait! A.S could in theory be our mayor, but the other name which matches is…” Connie took a deep breath as Harrison dropped the frame on the kitchen counter, finishing her words, the sickening feeling of betrayal following every syllable.

“. . . Andrin Staheli.”

❆❅❆

Harrison paced the room as Piercenia listed exceedingly more and more absurd explanations for why Andrin Staheli would be mentioned on a note by Asher. “Maybe Andrin was working with the mayor and they concocted some sort of evil plan and they murdered Asher!” They let out rapid breaths, hysteria climbing into their voice. “Or-or maybe the mayor and Andrin were involved with some sort of plot and extorted Asher – and that’s why Asher would say ‘I’ll have the money soon!’” As their panic reached their peak, Piercenia began hyperventilating and between gasps they squeaked, “I need my healing crystal - right now!” Aimlessly rummaging through their pockets, a look of terror pinched their face as they came to the horrific realization that they hadn’t their beloved sea salt Himalayan marbled healing stone from India.

Sensing Piercenia needed comfort, Connie dashed from the room as Florence silently slipped away. The warmhearted baker returned in record time, holding a fresh mug of hot chocolate and swiftly grabbed for the nearest spoon on the countertop, slightly tainted, but usable.

Piercenia gulped down the steaming, frothy cocoa, a silent prayer for relief. As they were about to finish the cup, their eyes suddenly bulged out and the mug slipped from their hand entirely. They broke into a coughing fit and grasped at their neck in discomfort and felt their insides churn. Ducking away as fast as they could, Piercenia emptied their gyrating guts into a nearby plant. “What did you put in that cocoa?!” Piercenia demanded Connie.

“I – nothing! I’m so sorry!” Connie replied, bringing Piercenia a napkin to wipe their mouth with. “Are you alright Piercenia? Would you like me to bring you a warm glass of water?”

Ice dripping from their voice, Piercenia swatted Connie’s arms away pettily. “No! All I want right now is one of my healing crystals… Oh curse that bastard of a mayor, now I recall! I gave my healing crystal to Asher when they practically begged me for it!”

Abruptly, unlike her quiet exit, Florence entered, bundled warmly in a down jacket, “Hey guys, the weather outside is intense, we’re completely snowed –,”

“Florence! Oh, my beloved Florence, I have been poisoned! Really, truly poisoned – please cure me with your magical witch doctor powers you possess!” Piercenia pleaded, sinking to their knees.

Florence pushed past Piercenia and approached the rest of the group, her inquisitive gaze piercing each individual. “What did I miss?”

Vincent detailed her of the events, “Piercenia had a bit of a panic attack, something to do with the mayor, Andrin and healing crystals? They then drank hot chocolate Connie prepared and…” with a slight gag he continued, “Vomited. Right in that gorgeous potted dracaena to your right.”

“May I see the vessels they used?” Florence asked, distracting from the image forming in their minds.

Connie, ashamed, rapidly explained, “You see I washed a mug and even took out a new bag of cocoa! The milk surely didn't expire… My hands, my hands were clean too! I run a bakery, I know my sanitization rules!”

Florence’s eyes caught sight of the small spoon dripping with remaining brown liquid. She picked it up to examine, rotating it and observing how it reflected light. She carefully brought the spoon close to her face and took a deep inhale, souring at the scent. “Was this spoon previously used? It seems to contain some sort of contaminant… I’ll be frank, likely a toxin.”

“I knew it was murder!” Piercenia shrieked. In a fit of momentary insanity, they dropped the crystal ball from within their ornate, bedazzled pouch and the glowing orb rolled directly beside Asher’s lifeless corpse.

As the shock emanated through the floorboards, a gleam of a crystal against Asher’s neck caught the fleeting attention of Piercenia.

“Is that…?” Harrison trembled.

“Oh. My. Arnold. Snowington. That’s the very same healing crystal that Asher was practically leeching onto me about! Only…” They squinted as they looked closer, “It appears to be missing the yin to its yang!”

“What?!” Asked a clearly confused Connie.

“The crystal had a two-tone quality to it and it was much longer than this little scrap! It appears as if Asher broke it. Ah, but but! This crystal seems to be chopped finely, disgusting, but clearly intentional!”

Vincent cleared his throat and turned to face the group, “You might want to take a look at this… I was admiring Andrin’s sleek and elegant blazer, paired with golden crested buttons that create the perfect balance between sophistication and grace - and… it appears that Andrin is wearing a ring on his wedding finger very similar to that of the crystal draped around Asher’s neck.”

Harrison didn’t bask in the puzzling mumbles for long. Releasing a quivering breath, he weakly laughed, “You know Piercenia, you were wrong. The murderer may be in this very room, but they’re not standing. They’re laying right there, with half of that crystal and the ruins of not just my heart, but the last strands of my trust.”

Overwhelming silence fell delicately as the details connected - intricate as snowflakes, stroking the tips of their hair and coating their skin. The wisps of cold air that floated away from their faces as they breathed, hauntingly returned inside them as the ghastly truth possessed their insides and pulled their heartstrings.

Back from her investigations, Florence interjected, the snow not enough to drown out her words, “After further observation, it appears evident traces of poison may have been present on the same spoon used to stir Piercenia’s hot beverage. However, no one in this room would have had the means to tamper with it as anyone of us would have easily noticed. After considering various pieces of evidence, such as the note behind the photo, the contaminated spoon, the matching crystals, and the possible motive of life insurance, I have deduced that this likely was indeed a case of attempted–”

“Attempted murder. Turned into a suicide. The attempted murder of me, Harrison Fernsby.”

“Yes, indeed,” Florence stated somberly. “It appears Asher was having an affair with Andrin Staheli and in order to both cover up the affair and amass the money necessary to begin a new life away from Harrison, they planned to poison Harrison’s hot chocolate. That is why in Asher's limp hand lies the favorite mug of Harrison, likely intended for Harrison to drink. As I walked around this kitchen space, I had noticed another mug, Asher’s favorite mug, which was filled with completely untampered hot chocolate. It is likely that Asher mixed the two up and took a fatal sip which ended their life, leaving us to puzzle out the sad conclusion of their sudden death.”

After a beat of jarring silence enveloped the group, voices started flurrying in shock and outrage, a blizzard raging inside the walls of the Fernsby’s kitchen. Before their cries could quiet down, a ray of daylight peered through the door as it cracked open, snow crawling in from the heavy winter outside.

A stout figure stood at the front steps, equipped with a large shovel. “It’s your mayor here! You guys were really snowed in, you know? Thought I’d come and help out and…” Arnold Snowington’s eyes widened as he realized the scene before him. “What happened?!”

Piercenia, scooping up their crystal ball with a frightful expression, managed to whisper out the words, screams against the silence yet whispers within the storm, “It’s a long, long story…”

❆❅❆

This is an original short-story, collaboratively written by Anya and Nat.